Teenage Wasteland
by Al0hom0ra
Summary: Set in the early 1990's, Jack Dawson is the new kid at Carpathia High, where he meets the intriguing but troubled Rose Dewitt-Bukater, whom he can't seem to get out of his head.
1. Chapter 1

"Who's that?" Rose asks, turning to her best friend, Trudy, slamming her locker shut and looking out across the lobby. There is a boy she hadn't seen before making his way towards the front office, clearly visible from where they stand in the locker bay.

Rose's best friend Trudy is a shy girl with mousy brown hair that falls in curls, and a sensible put-together style. "Must be new," she responds, turning to Rose with a shrug and without much interest. "I wouldn't let Cal see you looking, though. Come on. We'll be late for class." Rose follows her friend with one more glance toward the new guy, taking in his appearance further. He's tall and rather thin, with blonde hair that hangs in his eyes. She had only seen his face in profile, but thought he had the potential to be cute— what caught her attention most however was the clothing. No one who wanted to fit in at Carpathia High dared to dress even a little bit grunge or punk; it was a school full of well-to-do snobs, and she's sure that with his ripped jeans, boots, and baggy green flannel, this new kid was about to get some attention.

They had only been back at school for a few days, and so all of the classes were still settling into routines. This morning, she was in history class, sat near the back, next to Trudy, and one desk ahead of her boyfriend Cal and his friends. He had been giving her a hard time since summer had ended— Rose had spent most of the vacation alone, working part time in a cafe, practicing her ballet, and reading when she wasn't fighting off Cal's advances and finding excuses to get away. Cal had been determined to get her to sleep with him over the summer, no doubt so he could come back and brag to his jock friends, but she hadn't let him get his way. She had feigned sickness or tiredness, and even prude ideals and he had been frustrated, but held off. In truth, it wasn't that she was against having sex, but Rose had no real feelings for the handsome fellow senior— something she was sure her peers would be shocked to hear. Their relationship had started genuinely. He had been nice to her in the beginning, and had treated her well, taking her out and spoiling her. They were the perfect match on the outside: he, the smart quarterback from a wealthy family, and she, a cheerleader with an equally important name and reputation. They had been on the homecoming court for three years running, and favored to win this time around now that they were in their final year.

The truth of the matter however, was that Rose is miserable with Cal. They didn't even really get along. She has no interest in sports beyond dancing, and could care less about money or expensive cars and clothes. She doesn't want to be homecoming queen— and actually thought the ritual of the whole thing was rather asinine, and to say that they had nothing in common was an understatement. Cal was smart, but in a way that was business-minded, calculating, and shrewd. Rose's intelligence hinged upon an understanding of the arts, and emotion; things Cal thought were a waste of time an energy. If she didn't feel so trapped into their relationship through expectation she would have dumped him a long time ago.

The bell has just sounded, signaling the start of the day, when the door opens again, the blonde boy from before stepping into the room. The teacher, Mr. Andrews, stands, and makes his way towards the new kid, taking the note from his outstretched hand, and nods with a smile before clasping a hand on the kid's shoulder and turning towards the room.

"Class, we have a new student joining us from Paris High. This is Jack Dawson."

Jack gives a slight nod towards the class that is being addressed, and raises a hand casually in greeting. Whispers are already erupting across the classroom, and Rose hears Trudy murmur to her "Well, there's your answer."

"Mr. Dawson, why don't you take the empty seat in front of Miss Dewitt-Bukater, there." Mr. Andrews points to the empty desk in front of Rose, and Jack nods heading that way, his eyes locking with hers. She wants to offer a smile, but feels frozen to the spot— his eyes are penetrating, and she has the vague notion that he's reading her. She wonders what he's thinking. He looks kind, and very unlike anybody she had seen at this school before— his shaggy blonde hair was falling across a face that's somehow both boyish and wise. He's handsome, she notes, in a way that is very different from Cal.

Rose can hear Cal behind her, talking to his friend Spencer._ God, what a freak. It looks like he rolled in off the streets. Look at that leather jacket like he thinks he's some kind of punk. _He's talking loud enough to be heard, and he knows it, something that makes Rose's aggravation for Cal flare up even more. "Careful, Sweetpea," he says even louder, addressing Rose, making sure Jack can hear him. "I wouldn't sit too close. It looks like he has fleas."

Rose watches as Jack catches Cal's eye, and his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. She can see that this new guy isn't going to take the bait and feed into Cal's taunts, and it makes her glad. Taking the bait would only make Cal continue. As he slings his book bag over the back of his chair and makes to sit, Jack's gaze catches hers again, lingering for a moment, and she tries to keep her face neutral, but still convey her apology for Cal's immaturity, and she thinks that she sees Jack's mouth quirk into the tiniest hint of a smile, and something within her gives a faint flutter. At the end of class, Jack is out the door before Rose is even able to gather her things, and she tries not to be disappointed. She couldn't have tried to talk to him with her asshole boyfriend sitting behind her anyway.

Cal, and his laggie, Spencer Lovejoy are delaying behind as well, and he slips an arm possessively around Rose's waist as they enter into the hallway. "Kids from Paris High are always poor," comments Cal, as Rose tunes in to their discussion, obviously still talking about Jack. "He's probably trouble, or his parents bribed someone to get him in here. Why else would he be starting so late? He's obviously messed up. Did you see his jacket? All those patches and safety pins— he's probably some kind of delinquent."

As Rose listens, she can't help but disagree with Cal's quick judgements. Jack had seemed nice enough to her, and even intriguing. During the class discussion on the industrial revolution, Jack had answered several of Mr. Andrews' questions and had even raised his own points. He was obviously smart, Rose thought. He seemed to be a whole lot more interesting than anyone else at Carpathia.

—

It's the next day when Jack catches sight of the pretty redhead again. Because of the block scheduling the school does, his classes are scheduled every other day, and he's happy to find that she is also in his AP Art class, and that her asshole boyfriend is nowhere in sight. The day before, he had asked his friend Fabrizio about her. Fabrizio was a senior here as well, whom Jack had known from work, and who had become one of Jack's best friends since his arrival in Virginia three years earlier. The Italian American had told Jack all about Rose— that she was a perfect student, and from a rich crowd. She was popular, but quiet, and that her boyfriend, Cal, as Jack had suspected, is the captain of the football team and the worst kind of bully.

"If you ask me," Fabri had mused, "I don't think she even really likes him. She seems to avoid him when she can."

"Then what's the point?" Jack wondered aloud. "If she doesn't like him, then why date him?"

Fabrizio had shrugged. "Appearances? Boredom? Who knows. They're both snobs. Maybe they deserve each other."

Jack frowns. She hadn't seemed like a snob to him— when Cal was insulting him, her expression had seemed to convey an apology. No, she didn't seem like a snob, she just seemed sad and trapped.

Now, as Jack enters the art room and scans his surroundings, he sees her bright hair before he sees her. She's sitting stiffly upright on one of the metal stools in the back corner, flipping through a folio case on the table in front of her. He knows from talking to the teacher before enrolling that they're supposed to be having their beginning of the year portfolio review today— individual meetings with Ms. Duff-Gordon to assess what they should concentrate on for the year as they prepare for college. Rose is probably going through her own portfolio.

Weighing his chances and unsure how welcome he'll be, he makes his way across the room, trying to appear as casual as possible, clearing his throat to get her attention when he's close enough.

She has a look of annoyance on her face when she first glances up, but it softens to curiosity when she sees that its him. "Mind if I, uh, sit over here?" he asks, scratching the back of his neck. "It's a little crowded in here." It's not. There are only about twelve students in this course, and she raises her eyebrow at the comment, but shrugs and gestures to the empty stool a few feet away.

"Suit yourself," she says, and Jack finds that he can't read her expression. She's dressed well, if not a little sophisticated for high school, in black tights and heels, a corduroy skirt, and a tucked in blouse. He decides the style matches how rigidly she seems to be carrying herself, but she's still very pretty. Her hair, the thing he supposes everyone notices about her first, is piled into a clip at the back with wispy bangs framing her made-up face. Sensing that she doesn't want a conversation, he pulls out his own portfolio and sets to work organizing the images into some sort of order.

She speaks again first, surprising him. "I wanted to apologize for Cal yesterday," she says, and when he looks at her, she's staring hard at a blank page in front of her, not meeting his eye. "It was rude and uncalled for for him to talk about you like that. He can be an asshole sometimes."

Jack shrugs. He's used to being whispered about, whether he does anything to justify it or not. Teenagers tended to be the same no matter what state or school you're in. "Sometimes?" Jack asks. He had heard some of Fabrizio's stories. "You don't have to apologize for him. He's his own person and you didn't do anything."

Rose shakes her head, looking exasperated, and Jack thinks maybe he said the wrong thing. She was the one that had called Cal an asshole in the first place though.

"Are you always this sure of yourself?" she asks, voice a little tense.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he counters, still calm and casual. "It's my second day here. I may as well make it a fresh start and speak my mind. I'll either make friends, or I won't. Graduation is in less than a year, and then it won't matter."

Rose turns back to her work. "I wish I could have that attitude about it. For me, it's all that matters."

Jack wants to ask her what she means by that— it sounds cryptic and a little melancholy, and he doesn't want to leave the conversation on the wrong foot, but she's called away for her review, and leaves the classroom immediately afterward. He knows that the next time he sees her will likely be back in history class where she'll be surrounded by Cal and his cronies.

He does see her before then, but he doubts she notices him. She's more than a little preoccupied. It's the end of the school day, and as Jack heads across the lawn towards the senior parking lot, unlit cigarette between his lips. He catches sight of Rose and Cal near the corner of the building. They're arguing. Rose looks even more tense than she had been in art class, but appears to be dishing words back to Cal as strongly as he's giving them, shaking her head and gesturing towards the parking lot. It's really none of Jack's business and he knows it. He should just keep on walking, but curiosity gets the better of him, and he draws just close enough to listen in, crouching and feigning like has to re-tie his bootlace.

"You're being a brat about it, Rose," he can hear Cal say. "You know this dinner has been planned for weeks, and I can't show up without my girlfriend. How would that look?"

"Cal, I told you then and I'm reminding you now, I have plans!"

"For fuck's sake, what, your little dance recital? When are you going to give it up, Rose? You're never going to be a professional dancer. You're never going to be good enough for it, let alone have the figure."

"It's an audition, Cal. It's not something I can just reschedule, and you know that!" She doesn't even acknowledge the jab at her appearance. Jack can see that her face is turning red, and she looks a little desperate, but Cal isn't taking no for an answer.

"You're not going to dance school anyway. You're coming to Yale with me, just like our parents agreed. You know your situation. Now come on!"

Jack watches as Caledon grabs Rose by the wrist, forcibly dragging her forward towards the parking lot. When he lets go, sure that she'll follow, he can see her rub at her wrist. Cal hadn't been gentle. Something more than curiosity at the situation stirs within Jack, and he's genuinely worried for the girl now. From what he has seen of Cal, not only is the guy a bully in general, but seemed to be bordering on abuse towards Rose. He knows however that there's realistically nothing he can do. He had barely even had a single conversation with her, and it just isn't his place to interfere.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose sits at the table, tuning out the mindless chatter of the people around her— her mother, Cal's parents, and Cal are all talking excitedly about the upcoming school year and all of Cal's accolades and scholarship opportunities as if Rose and her accomplishments and desires mean nothing. She glances at the clock across the restaurant floor. It's nearing eleven PM. She had missed her audition for the fall ballet production, and any subsequent opportunity to get into the NY Ballet Company's extensive collegiate program by nearly five hours at this point, and she knows there will be no making it up. Her instructor had already been too lenient with her practice schedule as Rose had repeatedly had to work around the obligations of Cal and her mother. Her one shot out, to do something that she is passionate about, is blown, and with every second passing she feels more and more trapped into the current unfolding of her life with Cal, and that much more sure that this is not at all what she wants.

Suddenly feeling like she can't catch a breath, Rose stands, making an excuse that she needs the restroom and heading instead for the exit. She's so overwhelmed and absolutely cannot get a breath to drag through her lungs. Once on the pavement it's all she can do to reach down and grab her heels off her feet and yank the buttons of her tight blouse undone, letting it fall open with her camisole underneath. Wanting to do anything but stay here trapped, she's suddenly running, uncaring of the tears streaming down her face and ruining her mascara, or the holes ripping in the soles of her tights. She's tired of being dressed up to be a doll on Cal's arm, or a bargaining chip for her mother's appearance or reputation. Everyone in her life has control over her except for herself and she just wants it to stop— will find any way to make it stop, and there, ahead is a way.

The bridge is tall, the tallest in their suburban town, and she's still sobbing as she comes to a frantic stop in the middle. Leaning far over the railing she can see even in the dark that the river below is high and rushing, the current strong from recent rain. Thinking of nothing but her desperation for a way out, she climbs over the railing and onto the ledge on the other side, contemplating a jump that would end it all— take away all of the pain and tedium and obligations which weighed her down, because after all, if she continues life on her current path she will never be able to experience real joy or fulfillment.

Suddenly there's a voice cutting through her train of thought, distracting her.

"Don't do it!" The voice is slightly familiar, and she turns, startled, surprised to see Jack Dawson standing a few feet away on the other side of the railing. He looks wary, hand stretched out towards her tentatively, a lit cigarette between his lips. He's dressed similarly to how he had been in school, and still has that patch covered leather jacket on.

"Go away!" she finds herself shouting, wanting to be left alone.

Jack shakes his head a little, holding his hand out further. "Come on, you don't wanna do this. You're not gonna jump. Give me your hand, I'll help you back over."

Rose lets out a foreign sounding laugh from somewhere deep within her. He is so presumptuous. "And how would you know what I do and don't want to do?" she asks with contempt. "You don't know me."

Jack meets her eye, looking serious. "Well, you woulda done it already."

"Go away!" she says again, turning back around. "You're distracting me."

"I can't," explains Jack. "I'm involved now. I'm morally liable. You jump, and I gotta go in there after you."

She turns back again, abruptly. "What are you? Crazy?" she asks. Who in their right mind would voluntarily jump into the river in the dead of night in an already cold September.

He shrugs again, stepping closer to the railing and throwing his cigarette butt over. For a second they both watch as the glowing embers make their long way down to the water before disappearing. "It's been suggested," he says, "But if we're being honest here, I'm not the one hanging off the wrong side of a bridge. Come on. I know things might suck right now, but you don't want to take the easy way out. Give me your hand. I'll help you over."

Rose glances down again, one last time before taking Jack's hand. Slowly, she turns back around. His grip on her hand is strong but gentle, and she keeps hold of the railing with her other hand, being careful. When she's fully facing him, Jack lets out the breath he must have been holding with an exaggerated sign.

"Alright, now climb back over, one foot at a time. I've got you," he tells her, and she starts to, suddenly feeling relieved that Jack had been here. Jumping would have been stupid. She may feel trapped but killing herself isn't the answer. She has managed to step up onto the second wrung of the railing when her foot slips, the black tights she's wearing making her feet slick against the metal, and with her heart plummeting with her body she finds that she's falling, and lets out a harsh scream.

Jack, who still has her hand, pitches forward, slammed against the railing with her weight, but doesn't let go. His gaze is serious and reassuring as he yells down to her.

"Rose! I've got you Rose. I won't let go. Now you've got to pull yourself up. I've got you." He hopes he sounds more reassuring than he feels.

It must work, because she nods and uses all her strength to grab onto the bottom of the railing and hoist herself as Jack pulls. It's mere seconds but it feels like a lifetime, and once she's up high enough, he's wrapping both arms around her and bodily pulling her back over to the other side. By now, several cars have passed, and the cops must have been alerted because there are lights and sirens and she can see several cops running towards them as well as Cal and her mother.

"What's going on here?" they demand, drawing closer. Rose is still clinging onto Jack, visibly shaking from her fear and adrenaline, and he steps back from her a bit, looking towards the cops and Cal.

"What do you think you're doing?" spits Cal. "Get your punk ass hands off my girlfriend!"

Jack removes his hands from where they're still resting around Rose's back, putting them up as if in surrender.

"Cal!" Rose says, insistently, trying to get the angry teen's attention. "Cal, stop. It was my fault. I was being stupid. I was leaning too far over the bridge to see the water and I slipped. I was lucky that Jack was here to help me back over." Rose glances to Jack, begging him with her eyes to keep to her story, which he's happy to do. He's still pretty new in this side of town and doesn't need any trouble.

"Is that what happened?" One of the cops asks Jack, who nods.

"Uh, yeah, that's pretty much the story," he confirms, looking at Rose again, who appears relieved.

"Well, aren't you a hero," the cop comments. "I don't think we need to follow up," he says to his partner, getting ready to leave the scene. He turns back to Rose. "You be careful up here. This is no place to mess around."

Once the cops are getting back into their car, Cal makes his way over to Rose, practically pulling her further from Jack and wrapping his letterman jacket around her shoulders. "Look at you, you must be freezing. What are you doing out here anyway? You said you were going to the bathroom half an hour ago."

"I felt like getting some air," she states, shrugging out from under his arm, and turning back towards Jack, who is still standing nearby somewhat awkwardly.

It's Cal who speaks up, offering a hand out towards Jack to shake, and the blonde looks at it skeptically before offering up his own palm. "I guess I owe you thanks, Dawson. And an apology for Rose's stupidity."

Rose bites her lip to keep back her anger, and watches as Jack gives Cal's hand one firm shake before putting both hands back in his jacket pockets. He meets her gaze again. "Just glad I was in the right place at the right time," he explains. Rose feels as if there's more meaning in his answer than what he's saying aloud.

— — — — —

Jack makes his way home slowly, his curiosity about Rose now even stronger after the ordeal he had just been a part of. He could tell from first meeting her eyes that she wasn't happy, but now that he knew that the extent of her pain was enough to cause her to contemplate suicide, he was genuinely worried. And at the same time, he was intrigued by her. She's beautiful— probably the most gorgeous girl he had ever met, and yet it was more than that. He can sense that she has a depth to her that most girls their age lack, and he wants to learn everything about her. Unfortunately he has the watchful eye of Cal to contend with. He has a feeling that even just striking up a friendship with her may be hard.

As he lets himself into the front door of the large house, he calls out to his guardian, Molly. It's late, but he doesn't doubt that she's still awake.

"Molly, I'm home!" he calls out, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it near the door.

"In the kitchen!" She calls back, and Jack heads in that direction.

He has been living with Molly for two and a half years. His parents had passed away in a fire when he was around ten, and he had become a ward of the state, bouncing from care home to foster home for a few years before finally running away. He was caught and put into a facility in the city three years ago at the age of fifteen, where he had met Molly. She was a rather well-to-do philanthropic woman in the New York area, but she had been more understanding of Jack and more down-to-earth than most adults he had ever met, and when she had offered him a place in her home, he had jumped on the chance. She was helping him to turn a new leaf in his life, and to get ahead, pursuing the arts and finally finishing high school despite being a year older than all of the other seniors. Recently they had moved houses into a different school district, causing Jack to have to switch schools, but he didn't mind. He knows that he's lucky to have this home, and so beggars can't be choosers.

"You're home late," his guardian says as he passes through the kitchen doorway. Her eyebrow is raised in what could be misconstrued as stern judgment if Jack hadn't known better. She really doesn't mind, and he's never so much as had a curfew with her.

Jack nods, not really wanting to explain the full story. "We ran late closing up the store, and then I ran into someone from school on the walk home" he says instead. It's not a lie, either. He works at District Records with his friends Tommy and Fabrizio, and they really had run about forty-five minutes late, and he had stumbled across Rose.

The older woman nods. "Have you eaten?" she asks, and Jack nods again.

"We ordered a pizza to work."

"Homework?" She asks, and he nods again, letting her know that he's done it all.

"Haven't seen much of you around since you started at Carpathia," she says, once she's done giving him the third degree. "How are you liking it?"

He shrugs. "It's high school," he states. "The classes are the usual, and the people are boring." He pauses, reconsidering. "Well, most of the people."

"Oh?" she asks, her attention caught. "Making new friends?"

"Not friends, per se," he answers, thinking back to the strange night he's had, and all of his interactions with Rose thus far.

"Is there a girl?" Molly queries, a knowing expression on her face, and Jack looks back towards her.

"That obvious?" he asks.

"Honey, I've known you for long enough to recognize what it means when you get that far away look you've got. You've always been a charmer."

He waves her off. "Well, not this time," he explains, "She's got a boyfriend. A serious boyfriend."

"Uh huh." Molly's tone alone states that she doesn't believe for a second that that will stop Jack from going after his crush.

He shakes his head at her, ready to end this conversation before she can embarrass him. "Goodnight, Molly." His tone is sing-song as he makes his way from the room and up the stairs to his bedroom. Throwing his book bag onto the floor, he flops down onto his bed and unlaces his boots far enough to kick them off before collapsing onto his back. He can't deny it one bit, he's worried about Rose. He feels involved now in her well-being and he would have to talk to her tomorrow and make sure that she's going to be alright. Something about Caledon Hockley has him more unsettled than he would be by the normal self-righteous, conceited jock type, and its bothering him. He's fully aware that its none of his business, but he would just have to have a talk with Rose.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Rose doesn't take her usual care in getting ready. She's too exhausted, and frankly doesn't care about how put-together she looks when she feels like she's falling apart. Opting for comfort instead, she pulls on a pair of high waisted jeans and a loose green sweater. She knows that Cal is likely to have some snide comment. He hates when she wears baggy clothes. Right now though, she can't find the energy to care. She had missed the audition she had worked all summer to prepare for because of her controlling boyfriend, and despite how stupid and rash she knew that her actions had been on that bridge, she had nearly died, and would have if it hadn't been for Jack. She had yet to stop replaying the ordeal in her mind and couldn't think of anything but his kindness, and the reassuring look in his eyes when he had pulled her back across. He had been gentle with her, and hadn't seemed to judge her actions, and had gone along with her story without missing a beat. She knows that she'll be seeing him in her first period class, and while she would like to speak with him, she hopes that he has the sense not to bring it up in front of Cal.

Her boyfriend had spent the drive home apologizing insincerely to her about her audition, as if that had been the only reason she had been upset, and had tried once again to make a move on her in the car, getting frustrated when she had turned away, denying him even a kiss. All in all, the night had ended just about as well as it had started.

Rose heads straight to class upon reaching school. She had walked that morning, not wanting to be stuck in the car with Cal again so soon. Trudy is already in her seat reading when she gets there, headphones over her ears and walkman sitting on her desk, but upon seeing Rose, she shoves them down around her neck.

"Rose you look rough. Late night? How was the audition?" her friend asks.

The red-head slumps into her seat. "There was no audition."

"What? Why?" he friend asks, leaning towards her. Just then Cal enters the room, and Rose shakes her head.

"I don't want to talk about it," she responds, and seeing Cal, Trudy catches on with a sympathetic smile.

Cal takes his seat behind Rose, looking just as grumpy as she feels. "Sweet Pea, where were you? I stopped by to pick you up and you weren't there. I waited for ten minutes before your housekeeper finally told me you left."

"I felt like walking," she says, and its not untrue. She just leaves out that she felt like walking in order to avoid him.

The rest of the class is beginning to trickle in, and Cal is soon distracted from questioning her further as some of his friends pull him into a conversation about their upcoming football game.

As Jack enters the classroom, his gaze finds hers, and she wants to look away or sink even further into her chair, but finds that she can't. He's holding her gaze evenly, seeming to ask how she's doing with his eyes. He's dressed today in a pair of ripped and worn black jeans and a blue t-shirt for some band Rose is unfamiliar with. It's the first time she's seen him without sleeves or a coat on, and she's surprised to see a few tattoos lining his arms. He must be the only student at the school with tattoos, and briefly she wonders just how old he is. When he sits she can see some of the designs more clearly, and is intrigued by one that covers the back of his left arm; it's a loose script, appearing hand written, and simply says "make it count."

Behind her she hears Cal laugh about something, and he speaks up loudly. "Jesus, Dawson, you look like a coloring book. Did you get those in that home they had you in? What was it like in juvenile prison?"

Rose is confused. A home? Juvie?

Jack turns and meet's Cal's gaze, his expression unconcerned. "I happen to enjoy coloring," he says, with a shrug. "It's very therapeutic. Maybe you should try it— work out some of those anger and repression issues you seem to be having. And I'm not sure about prison. Never been. You'll have to let me know some day."

Cal balks, struggling to summon a proper come-back, instead settling for a "Fuck you, Dawson," and Jack catches Rose's eye before turning back towards the front, and she's trying hard to stifle a laugh. It's not every day someone is able to take Cal down a peg.

Rose leaves class quickly that day, following after Jack. She knows that Cal will be annoyed, but right now she doesn't really care. She catches up to him in the courtyard, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Jack."

He turns, his surprise at her having followed him clear on his face. He stops walking and so does she.

Rose feel unsure— she hadn't even planned what she wanted to say, but felt like she couldn't leave everything that had happened the previous nigh unacknowledged and keep a clear conscience. "Jack," she begins again, "I, well, I wanted to thank you. For pulling me back, and also for going along with my story. I don't know what they would have done if they knew I had tried to-" She trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Jack nods, meeting her gaze. His eyes are warm, she thinks. Understanding.

"I only did what anyone decent would'a done," he says with a shrug. She can't help but think that's not true. What he did was more than anyone would have done— anyone would have called the police— a few apparently did. He had approached her, talked to her, made her see reason, and had been calm and collected and warm throughout. He had saved her.

Feeling suddenly awkward, she changes the subject, beginning to walk again, in the direction of her next class, and Jack continues the same way. "What were you doing there anyway?" she asks. It had been late, and she was still surprised he happened to be out on that bridge.

"Walking home from work," he answers, hands in his pockets. "I work closing shifts at District Records a few nights a week, and we had to do some inventory last night and got out late."

She smiles. He looks like exactly the kind of person who would work at a record store. "I love that place!" She says, and she does, although truthfully she hadn't had much occasion to go in— she was usually working, or stuck with Cal or part of his crowd when she was in town, and none of them enjoyed music the way she did. "I actually work down the street from there on the weekends— at Lost Dog Cafe."

"Really?" asks Jack, somewhat surprised. "I didn't peg you as a barista."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, somewhat defensive.

"Nothin'" he raises his hands in defense. "It's just surprising is all."

"Well, I had to do something for my own money," Rose says. "I know I may come off as a spoiled rich brat, but that's not the case."

Jack nods. "You're right. I'm sorry I assumed."

Rose raises and eyebrow. "And what about you? What's up with this look? All the leather and tattoos? What, do you think you're gonna be some kind of rock star or something?"

"Artist, actually," Jack answers. "And I just like what I like. I don't care what other people think."

Rose eyes him again, her gaze landing on the portfolio book tucked under his arm. "Can I see?" She asks, and he shrugs again, handing the book over. She pauses her walk, leaning against a brick wall near an entrance to the school, and flips through. There are a variety of mediums— mainly drawing and photography. Most of the photographs are candid urban shots as well as photos taken at concerts and venues, and the drawings are all portraits. Everything in the portfolio is extremely impressive, and not just for a teenager— she can tell at a glance that he has real talent. He sees people, and knows the decisive moment to capture a photo and exactly how to portray emotion and expression in his drawings, and she's captivated.

"This is incredible work, Jack," she says, not wanting to stop her flip-through. The warning bell rings letting them know they have just two minutes to get to the next period of the day.

Jack shrugs again. "They didn't think too much of them over at Paris High."

She hands him his portfolio back. "Truly, Jack. This work is incredible. I'd love to see the rest of it sometime. I guess we should get to class, though."

"Guess so," he concedes. They're headed in the same direction again, both towards the science wing, but have to split off towards opposite ends of the hallway, her towards Earth Science and Jack towards biology, and they part with a glance and tentative smiles.

—

Jack has a hard time focusing the rest of the day. He was completely preoccupied with thoughts of Rose, and worries. She had seemed different today, which was no wonder after the events of the previous night, but she had also somehow seemed more herself. She was more relaxed— less stiff and rigid, and she was actually dressed casually which was something Jack hadn't yet seen her do. He found he liked this version of Rose better— this version walking around in high waisted jeans and boots of her own, letting her hair flow loose over the shoulders of a baggy sweater.

He sees her again at the end of the day as he makes his way towards the parking lot. He's with Fabrizio, but tells his friend to go ahead without him— he would see him at work the next day. Hanging back, he gathers the courage to go and talk with her again, but before he gets a chance, Cal Hockley is there, wrapping an arm around her shoulder which causes her to tense. He watches as they talk, but he can't hear them this time. Cal looks annoyed, but what else is new? The football player leans towards Rose, seemingly to kiss her, and Jack's about to look away when he sees her turn her face at the last moment, offering Cal her cheek instead. Looking even more annoyed, he waves her off and continues back down the sidewalk towards the gymnasium, probably to attend football practice before that night's game. He remembers his friend telling him that Rose is a cheerleader, and wonders why she's not headed to prepare for the game as well.

"Are you okay, Jack?"

He's startled out of his thoughts and is surprised to see that Rose is now standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. He must have had a far away expression on his face, he figures. Molly was always telling him he spent half his time in the clouds.

"I— yeah. What's up?" he asks, adjusting the strap of his backpack over one shoulder.

"I was just talking to Cal," she says, her tone casual. "He's having a party tonight after the game. He says you should come— like a thanks for helping me last night." She looks unsure as she finishes her sentence.

Jack can't help but to be amused, both at Rose's discomfort, and at the idea of attending a party at the rich football captain's house. It seems absurd. "I get a pity invite?" He asks. He had heard about the party around school, but hadn't paid much mind. House parties weren't really his scene. If Rose was going to be there, however…

"It's not a—" she starts to protest.

"It's a pity invite," He states again. "What do you see in that guy anyway?" he asks. It's out of his mouth before he has the chance to think the question over. "Why do you date him, of all people?"

"Why are you being so rude? That's none of your business." She counters.

"Why him?" he asks again, and he can almost physically see her annoyance rise— finds that her temper is just as attractive as the rest of her and wants to keep teasing, but he also just genuinely wants to know.

"I— its—" she struggles, "It's complicated." She crosses her arms, making her way over to a nearby bench, and Jack follows as she seems to expect him to.

"I've got time," Jack says, as he sits as well.

She gives him a side glance, and sighs heavily. "We practically grew up together," she explains. "Our parents are in the same circle— or, they were, at least, until my father passed away."

"I'm so sorry," Jack says, turning towards her more fully. He hadn't known she had lost a parent as well, and it definitely added a layer to his understanding.

"It's okay," Rose says with a sad smile. "He was sick for a long time, so it wasn't unexpected. He was an alcoholic, and died of liver disease. He left my mom with a mountain of debt, and I think she'll always be bitter. We had to move to a different neighborhood— a smaller house, and a lot of her friends from her old crowd did nothing but gossip. I did my best to make things easier— worked hard, got perfect grades, did cheerleading just like she did even though I hate it, and when Cal asked me out three years ago, Mom was over the moon. After this long, I'm trapped. All these plans have been made— Cal's parents are on the alumni board at Yale, and have promised glowing recommendations if I apply, and scholarship opportunities. I can't go to college next year without a scholarship. I won't be able to afford to, and Cal knows it— he holds it over my head." She lifts her hand, showing Jack Cal's class ring, sitting on her pointer finger due to the size. "He called it a promise," she states sardonically. "It feels more like a ball and chain."

"Jesus," Jack enthuses. The ring is ostentatious and gaudy, and the idea behind it seems like something straight from Happy Days. "You don't have to put up with this. You have other options."

"I did," Rose says, "Until yesterday. He took the only other chance I had away from me."

"What do you mean?" Jack asks, sensing that he was about to finally piece together the rest of her night, and what had led her to that bridge.

"I do ballet," she says, "Or, I did. I've been in an elite program for years, and spent the summer practicing every spare moment I got. Yesterday after school I was supposed to be auditioning for the New York Youth Ballet's fall production of Romeo and Juliet. Getting the part, or any part, would have meant the opportunity to join and learn with a real company in the city next year— to do what I've always wanted to do. Because of Cal, and the stupid dinner he and his family had planned with some Yale alumni, I missed the audition. There's no way to make it up. He has me trapped, now, and i'm running out of excuses to avoid spending any time with him. I'm out of options."

"You can't explain, and do a makeup audition?" Jack asks.

She shakes her head. "I tried. They've given me too many chances already, and they said my absence reflects poorly on my ability to commit if given a part at all. It's done."

"And so last night…" Jack says, the pieces falling into place.

"Last night I was stuck at a fancy dinner with everyone chattering around me, planning my life away and not caring at all about what I wanted, and it was all just too much. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't breath, and I was desperate. In hindsight, I was irrational. I'm glad you were there to stop me. I still don't know what to do though. I'm still just as trapped."

"I'm glad I was there too," Jack says, sincerely. "That's a lot to deal with," he says. "way more than you should have to. Cal isn't being understanding at all?" he asks.

"He says he's sorry, but I know he's not. Not really. He just says he loves me and wants what's best for me, but only if it works out in his favor."

"Do you love him?" Jack asks, pretty sure he already knows the answer.

"That's not—" Rose seems stunned and defensive again. "That's not the point. That's none of your business."

Jack shrugs. "It's a simple question," he says.

"That is not a simple question at all!" Her pitch is rising in defense.

"Sure it is, do you love the guy or not?"

She stands. "Do any of us really know what that means, anyway?" she asks, and he stands as well, mirroring her.

"Look, I didn't mean to make you mad," he explains. "You're not happy with him, or you wouldn't be out here talking to me instead of getting ready for that football game. I just think that maybe you need to think about what makes you happy, instead of everyone else around you."

"And what do you know about being so happy?" she asks, gesturing to him. "You've been walking around here all doom and gloom in your black and your leather."

He shrugs. He's back in his favorite leather jacket again. "I dress this way because it makes me happy. I like the way it looks." He blows out a breath again, making an exaggerated noise. "Look, my life hasn't been a picnic, either. I get where you're coming from— I do. I've been there. To give you the short version, my family died when I was ten, and I was put in to the state system in Wisconsin. I've lived in four different foster homes, and ran away to New York right before my fifteenth birthday, but I got caught, and that was the best thing that coulda happened. My guardian, Molly, met me in the city around the time I arrived, and she got me out of at the system for good, and moved me out here to the suburbs. Because of her I'm finally able to be here finishing school, and I can go to college and pursue art if I want, but I don't have to. I wouldn't have had that chance if it hadn't been for everything that happened. I've also made some of the best friends I've ever had since coming to this town, and i have freedom, and a caring roof over my head, and I'm not struggling to find food or clothes and can just do what I want for the first time since I was a kid, so I have to say, I'm pretty damn happy right now. Not every shitty situation has to last forever if you don't let it."

"I wish I could be like you, Jack," Rose says, seeming to shrink in on herself a bit. "I wish I could see the best possible outcome, and just keep going, but I can't."

"Sure you can," he says. "You can do whatever you want. They don't own you. You'll be out of high school soon, and able to make your own choices."

She stays quiet, and he can see her mulling it over.

"If you could do one thing, right now, today, what would it be?" He asks.

"Right now? Not go to this damned football game. I'm already late for cheer practice, but I just don't care. I'm not peppy, and pretending to be is the last thing I want."

"Then don't go," he says. "Do something else. If you hate cheerleading so much, then quit. You seem to have a lot of other skills going for you."

"You're right," she decides. "I'm not going to go. I'm tired. I'm going to go home and relax instead. Cal will just have to understand."

Jack smiles. "Good. And if he doesn't, then screw him."

"Will I see you tonight, Jack?" She asks, reminding him about the party.

He considers it again, already knowing his answer, and nods. "Yeah." If she's going to be there, of course he would go.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose is bored. She had indeed skipped out on the football game, and had gone home instead. Her mother was out, likely shopping with money they didn't have, and so she had the house to herself for a few hours, and thoroughly enjoyed having a long soak in the bath with a book, and then taking her time to get ready for the evening while listening to music.

Now, she was at Cal's party in his parents' overly-large home, watching her boyfriend's friends chug beer straight from a keg hose while people cheered on sadistically over the monotony of loud hip-hop. Her boyfriend, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. Normally, she dreaded Cal's parties— they were always filled with the same narrow, vapid people, drinking too much and listening to terrible music while they paraded around pretending to be celebrities in their own right, and Cal was usual treating her as a trophy on his arm. It was dull and exhausting. Tonight, however, Rose had been looking forward to seeing Jack again and getting another chance to talk to him. She knows full well that she shouldn't be wanting to talk to another guy this much, but with Cal's recent attitude towards her, and everything she has sacrificed, she was having trouble caring— the only problem being that so far, Jack was nowhere to be found either, and so here she was, milling about in a corner, watching the teenage chaos around her.

She had dressed more to her taste than to Cal's tonight, in a simple but elegant long burgundy and black slip dress and choker and a pair of chunky shoes. Her hair was half up, secured into an artfully done messy bun, the rest falling in loose around her shoulders, and she had gone lighter on the makeup than she usually would have, while still opting for a deep mauve lip.

It's later in the evening already— almost nine-thirty and the party is in full swing. Feeling restless, Rose grabs a solo cup full of beer that she probably won't drink as she makes her way from the main room, into the kitchen and through a hall towards where she knows the bathroom is, wanting a moment of relative quiet. Already, she feels surrounded again by people who simply would not care whether she is around or not, and knowing the thought pattern that could lead her to if she's not careful she opts instead to use the toilet and freshen her makeup, smiling at her friend Trudy as she goes.

Upon leaving the bathroom, she can hear a girl giggling further down the hall, and is about to tell whoever it is off for going into Cal's room, which is supposed to be closed. The door is slightly ajar, and as she gets closer she catches sight of someone who is unmistakably Cal himself, on the bed, overtop of a giggling blonde. There is absolutely no denying that it's Cal— not only would Rose recognize his deep brown hair anywhere but he still has his jersey on, his number and last name emblazoned across his back even as he's parting this mystery girl's legs, and Rose finds that she feels too numb to even register anger. God knows that she wouldn't want to be in this girl's place, never mind Cal's infidelity. Her boyfriend, it seemed, had finally found another way to deal with his sexual frustration in the face of Rose's denials.

She's not paying any attention as she turns to make her way back down the hallway, and collides full force into someone, her beer sloshing into her hair and down the front of her dress.

"Hey!" she hears someone else shout, and looks up to see Jack grabbing hold of the guy who had run into her, steadying the drunk teen from falling and causing more damage. "Get out of here," he says, shooing him on, before turning fully to Rose, taking her dripping cup from her hand and setting it on a nearby table. "You okay?" he asks, surprised to find that she's laughing a bit.

"I'm fine," she says, pushing some of her newly soaked hair behind her ears and shrugging. Jack glances behind her, to where he can still see Cal making out heavily with another girl through the crack in the door. He had been hunting around the palatial house for Rose, and had found her wandering down the hall— saw her see Cal and realize the situation.

"Are you really okay?" he asks, and this time she shrugs, now aware that he had seen what she had.

"Come on," Jack says then, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hall and away from Cal's room. "It's a Friday night, and this party sucks. Let's make it count. I'm taking you to a real party."

Rose's heart immediately speeds up. "What?" she asks, apprehension building. "Jack no. I can't. I couldn't possibly—" but he continues walking, leading her towards the front doorway.

He stops, short of the door, looking at her. "Can't, or won't?" he asks. "Come on. Are you even having any fun here?" He faces her, his eyebrows raising, and his piercing eyes meeting hers. "I won't make you come. I could never make you do anything you don't want to, but do you really want to stick around here with this crowd while your asshole boyfriend is off with someone else? You deserve more than this. Trust me."

Rose hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder before making up her mind entirely. She really didn't want to be here. She hadn't wanted to be a part of this life— this crowd— in years, and here was this interesting new guy, looking out for her, and offering her a way out. If she didn't take it— didn't see where this night could lead, she may regret it forever.

"Alright, Jack. I'll trust you."

The smile that lights up his face then is larger than she's seen him give yet, and he takes her hand again, pulling her across the threshold and outside, almost at a jog in his excitement. When they reach a car— an old silver Trans Am, she can't help but smile to herself. Even Jack's used car seems a bit adventurous compared to the overpriced cars she had always been in. He opens the passenger door for her, already more of a gentleman that Cal had ever thought to be before going around and getting into the driver's side.

The inside of the car smells like drawing charcoal, darkroom chemicals, tobacco and something warm and comforting that Rose can't quite identify, and when he turns the key in the ignition, the music immediately starts up— The Ramones, she recognizes, and she eyes the stack of tapes he has lining the dashboard; some old punk and rock classics from the 80's as well as some new things— The Cure, The Clash, Nirvana, Bowie, Queen, The Smiths, Velvet Underground, Smashing Pumpkins. He even has some classical— Beethoven, and Tchaikovsky. His taste seems to be much more in line with her own than Cal's has ever been.

The drive isn't long as Jack takes them back towards town, and Rose finds that its comfortable to just sit and listen to music, not feeling the need to make conversation. Her mind is still reeling a little bit— she's being impulsive and she knows it, and doesn't even want to begin processing the fact that she had just witnessed her boyfriend of nearly four years cheating on her. Jack seems to sense her need for silence, and just focuses on his driving. Cal's behavior should make her angry, and she's sure that anger is coming the next time she's left alone, but right now she just wants to try and salvage the rest of her night. When she does speak again, Jack is parallel parking the car on a side street, adjacent to the town's main drag.

"The party is in town?" she asks, curious. She had expected another suburban house party somewhere.

He gives her a conspiratorial smile, climbing out of the car as she does. "Well, It's not a party, per se," he explains. "It's more of a show." He comes around to the sidewalk on her side of the car, leading the way. "One of my buddies from work is playing with his band tonight at the venue next to the record store, and a bunch of friends will be there."

Rose is suddenly a little nervous, but lets Jack lead the way. She's never been to a show before, or even a concert, despite loving music. It's not something that her mother or even Cal, who always changed the radio station back to top 40, would consider. It's exciting, and she can't quite believe that she's here with Jack at all. Everything she has done so far today has been so out of the usual. Jack seems to have shaken her from her shell a bit, and taken her out of her self-imposed confinement. She can't help but wonder what Jack was doing going to Cal's party in the first place if he had already had these much better plans with his friends.

The venue is loud— deafeningly so. As they enter, Jack stays close, and leads her across the room with his hand lightly at the small of her back, and she berates herself for the little thrill it sends up her spine. He has spotted some friends, and makes introductions as best he can over the noise of the rather terrible opening band.

The first person Jack introduces her to is Fabrizio DeRossi, his best friend, whom she recognizes from school, but had never spoken to. He greets her with a large smile and a warm handshake, introducing his girlfriend, Helga Dahl, whom Rose learns goes to Paris High where Jack had gone. Helga seems the type of person with a warm, bubbly personality, and a casual style, and Rose finds herself hoping that maybe the two of them can be friends. Next, Jack introduces a curly haired blonde guy, a few years older than them, who speaks with a thick Irish accent— Tommy Ryan, the one in the band they had come to see, and Rose sees a look pass between the two guys, Tommy raising his eyebrows at Jack, and she wonders what it means. Before long, a beer finds its way to Rose's hand, and Tommy leaves their group for his set. Jack, who has stayed close to her side ushers all of them through the gathering crowd and up to the front as the band begins to play, pulling his camera up from it's strap on his shoulder to capture the scene.

The music is loud and exciting, and Rose can't help but lose herself in it, jumping and nodding along with the crowd. By the time the set ends, she and Jack are both drenched in sweat from moving with the crowd. The band had been fantastic, and Jack's friend had done an amazing job on vocals and guitar— Jack and Fabrizio are talking excitedly about it as they all make their way back to the rear of the large building and towards an empty table. Jack has yet again placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her almost protectively, and she tells herself that he's only being polite— that perhaps he's still worried about what had happened the night before.

A bartender that Jack must know brings them all a round of drinks. None of them are twenty-one yet, but that doesn't seem to matter much here. They hadn't been carded at the entrance, no black x's drawn on hands, and she realizes that it must be because of Jack's apparent popularity in this crowd. He seems to know everyone— getting greetings and smiles left and right, and Rose can't help but be fascinated. Jack is obviously in his element here, among people with common interests, and is so very different from the quiet and reserved guy she's observed at school who had mostly seemed pensive and kept to himself.

Thirsty from dancing, Rose picks up her beer, nearly chugging the whole thing. She realizes as she's almost done with the pint that her new friends have stopped talking and are staring at her in astonishment, the look on Jack's face priceless.

"What?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him. "You think a cheerleader can't drink?"

The laugh that bursts from his lips feels like a reward, and she sets her now empty glass down demurely. Jack just shakes his head in amusement, still taking only small sips from his own glass with the knowledge that he'll have to drive her home later. Far from drunk, she is feeling a little tipsy now, giddy, and it makes her bold. Fabrizio and Tommy are at the table as well, immersed for some reason in an arm wrestle as Helga cheers her boyfriend on, and she clears her throat, getting the boys' attention. There's a cigarette hanging from Tommy's lips, and she reaches forward, grabbing it to take a drag before handing it back.

"You think you guys are tough, let me see you do this," she intones, the performer in her happy for the attention. She steps back from the table, turning towards Jack. She knows she's only doing this for his attention really, trying to impress him, and she doesn't want to think about what that means right now.

She gathers the length of her dress a bit in one hand. "Hold this for me, Jack," she instructs, and he does, his curiosity and surprise evident. With the bottom of her dress being held up by Jack, she kicks off her shoes and slowly rises on stocking'd feet until she is up on just two toes, allowing her weight to rest there for about half a minute until she cant hold it anymore, and collapses laughing as Jack's arms fly out to catch her. Jack's friends are clapping and there's laughter, and she thinks that she hears someone across the bar give a wolf whistle. She has the split second realization in that moment that she is actually having fun and enjoying herself, which is a far cry from how she had felt around this time the night before, up on that bridge with Jack pulling her back. The sharpness with which she suddenly feels relief is striking. Right here in this moment, she thinks that perhaps this is what it is like to just be seventeen on a Friday night.

The night sneaks up on them all too soon. Before they know it the bar is preparing to shut down, and the small group is making there way back out onto the street. Jack's friends say their goodbyes, heading their separate ways, and again, Rose is alone with this mystery of a man.

With the both of them in no rush to go home yet, they begin walking slowly down the block, killing time.

"Thank you for inviting me, Jack. That was the most fun I've had in ages."

Jack shrugs with a smile. "

"No problem. You looked like you could use some real fun." If he wants to say something about what they had both witnessed at Cal's party, he doesn't let on. She can tell already from Jack that the last thing he wants to do is upset her.

"I think it's exactly what I needed. I don't want to go back to real life," she says, shivering a bit. Jack catches this, and pulls off his leather jacket, draping it over her shoulders. It's huge on her, but she appreciates the warmth it provides as she uses one hand to hold it closed.

"Real life— why can't this be your real life, Rose? You're in the wrong crowd. You don't belong with those people. You got mailed to the wrong address."

She lets out a bitter laugh. "I think you're right."

They still their walk as they near the car, and Jack checks his watch. "One-eleven," he says out loud. "Make a wish."

Rose gives an unladylike snort. "I think that only works at 11:11," she states, but Jack just shrugs.

"Still," he states, "What would you wish for?"

She catches his eye, her heart speeding up in her chest as she considers— she would wish for so much; to be free from Cal, to do what she wants with her life rather than have her decisions made for her and her future lined up— to have the freedom to let herself fall for this beautiful boy in front of her who seems so open to offering her new possibilities.

"Something I can't have," she says, opening his passenger door for herself. It was dangerous to let herself dream.


	5. Chapter 5

As he drives her home, they're quiet again for most of the ride. He has different music on now; something softer— sleepier. She thinks maybe The Smiths. She directs him towards her house and as he pulls up to the curb he lets out a sigh, turning to her.

"Rose, I can't let you out of this car without saying something," he starts, and her heart speeds up again.

"Jack—" she tries to cut him off. She doesn't want the magic of this night to be broken.

"No, Rose. Let me get this out," he says, looking a little desperate as he blows out a breath, thinking over his words.

"Rose you're fantastic. You're astounding—"

"Jack," she tries to interrupt again, but he shakes his head, reaching across the console to brush a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Rose, look, I'm not an idiot. We're from two different worlds. You're high school royalty, and I'm at the bottom of the food chain. I get it. But you are the most beautiful, wonderful girl I've ever met and I know it's only been a few days, but I feel like I know you, and you are not the person you've been letting everyone see. You're so much more. I guess what I'm trying to say as that I can't let you go back into that house and back to everything you're used to without knowing you'll be okay— I can't help but worry."

"Jack, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Jack shakes his head, looking frustrated. "They've got you trapped, Rose. Your asshole boyfriend, and your mother. Cal doesn't even care how he's disrespecting you, and you deserve better."

"And you think you're better?" Rose snaps. She's off guard, and being unnecessarily defensive and she knows it, but its only to make it easier to mask her own feelings. He would be better, and she had been able to sense that from the moment they laid eyes on each other.

He takes a deep breath again, calming himself, not answering her question directly. "There's a fire in you, Rose, and its burning out. You're better than all of this, but you're gonna let them put out that flame, and I can't just stand by and watch it happen without knowing I tried— that I said something."

"It's not up to you to save me, Jack," she reminds him, and she feels close to tears. She understands exactly what he's trying to say, and that scares her. She doesn't feel ready to face how she's feeling for this person in front of her who had burst into her life and disrupted her whole world.

Jack leans back into the driver's seat again with a nod. "You're right," he answers. "Only you can do that."

"I'm going, Jack." She doesn't say goodbye, but he seems to know what she means. _I'll be fine. Don't follow me. I've made my choice._

— — — —

The next day is a Saturday: a work day for Rose. She's midway through her shift at the cafe when Cal comes in looking for her, and she decides to take the opportunity to take her half hour break, and lets Trudy, who happens to be today's shift supervisor know. Grabbing her own drink and a bagel, she leads the way to a corner table. Cal doesn't look very happy, and she can only guess that a fight is coming— she would rather minimize a scene in her workplace as much as she can.

He's talking before they're even seated, and she has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Here he is making assumptions about what she had been up to, when she had caught him cheating in the act.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Rose?" he asks, and she can tell he's trying hard to control his explosive temper. "First you skip the game— do you know how embarrassing that is? My own girlfriend wasn't even there to see me win. And then you just disappear from the party?"

Rose shrugs, not wanting to feed into Cal's theatrics. "I was tired," she says. It's not fully untrue— she had skipped the game in order to relax, and she _was_ tired when she had left the party; she was tired of Cal and his two-faced, controlling, misogynistic bullshit.

Cal's face darkens. "I'm sure you were tired, Rose. Especially after running all over the wrong side of town with that crust-punk piece of shit, Dawson."

Rose's eyes widen. How had Cal known? He had certainly been preoccupied when she had slipped from the party. Her question is answered however when he slams a polaroid photo down on the table in front of her— someone had taken a picture last night of her laughing in Jack's arms. She thinks its from when he had caught her after her little talent display.

"If I see you or hear about you talking to him again, Rose— "

She looks at him defiantly. "You'll what, Cal? I'm your girlfriend, not your property. You can't control me. Besides, you seemed perfectly happy with whoever that blonde girl was last night, or did you think I wouldn't notice?"

That's it. His anger boils over despite their public location. "God dammit, yes you are my girlfriend and you had better goddamn act like it!" he roars, swiping her coffee and food out of the way onto the floor as he leans over the table to get into her face, grabbing her wrist roughly, twisting it. "You will act how a girlfriend is supposed to act, and maybe then I won't have to talk to other girls to get what I need" he sneers at her. "You know as well as I do how much of your future is riding on this, and you wouldn't want to screw up your chances for a higher education, would you?"

Rose doesn't respond. She can't. She's shaking. She has seen Cal angry in the past, and frustrated, but she had never seen him explode quite like this, nor had he ever been this violent. She knows that her wrist is going to start bruising the minute he lets go. It's all she can do to shake her head.

Over his shoulder she can see Trudy rushing over with a rag and a mop, as well as her manager Mr. Lowe, who grabs Cal by the shoulder, telling him he needs to leave, and following him out the door.

"Rose!" Trudy says, coming to kneel next to Rose's chair. "Are you okay?"

She feels dazed. Physically, she's fine, but her head is swimming with worries of what she should do. She knows what she wants to do, but isn't sure she has the strength to do it. She wants to end things with Cal for good. Their relationship had been going south since the moment it began, and she has clung to it for so long feeling as if she had no other choice, but what kind of choice is it to be stuck with someone so full of loathing and anger, who could potentially hurt her for real down the road. Jack's voice rings in her head— _I just think you need to think about what makes you happy, instead of everyone else around you._

Rose looks down at the table. Cal had left the polaroid there, and she picks it up. There's a little coffee stain on the edge, but otherwise its fine. She studies the faces in the picture, barely recognizing her own. She looks happy— like a different person. A wide smile is lighting up her face and in the picture she is staring right at Jack who is grinning himself as he meets her eyes. She tries to think back to the way she had felt in that moment: alive, exhilarated, and the complete opposite of how she feels right now. Knowing this, she makes up her mind.

After the incident, the manager lets Rose go for the day. She wonders if it has more to do with the scene in his cafe than worry for Rose, but she doesn't question his decision. She can't remember the last time she had a Saturday afternoon free. Not ready to go home and face her mother, and probably Cal just yet she heads slowly up the street, not really having a destination in mind.

It's chilly out— the kind of fall weather that feels fresh and crisp and invigorating, and she finds that its helping immensely with clearing her mind. Before she realizes that her feet had been carrying her to a specific destination all along, she finds herself in front of the record store that Jack and his friends work at— a place she had only had the opportunity to visit once or twice before, and very briefly.

The music is loud when she walks in, and the atmosphere is jovial. Scanning the room, she sees Tommy at the front counter, talking to a customer as he rings them up. Fabrizio is in a corner aisle, unpacking cassettes from boxes onto shelves, and she can see Helga across the room combing through stacks and making marks on a clipboard. Her heart sinks a bit as she realizes Jack isn't here.

Seemingly the least busy of the three, she makes her way towards Fabrizio, who notices her coming his way.

"Rosa!" He says, straightening up, still holding onto a handful of cassettes. "What are you doing here?"

She suddenly feels sheepish. "I'm looking for Jack. Have you seen him?"

Fabrizio frowns slightly. "It was slow, so Tommy let him leave early. He said he had a lot on his mind. Try the bridge by the park. He likes to go there and think."

Rose nods, her mind flashing back to the bridge he had found her on just days before. "Thank you, Fabrizio." She's about to turn and leave when he speaks again.

"Rosa," he starts hesitantly, "It's not my place, but you like Jack, no?" His accent is thick.

Rose nods, not sure if she's strong enough to speak it out loud at the moment. Not when she's feeling so unsure of all of her actions the past few days and how she's knowingly about to sabotage her whole future.

"Tell him. I know Jack. I've never seen him like this. He hasn't talked about anything but you all week and he seemed so worried and sad today. He would kill me if he knew I told you." He shrugs, leaning down to pick up another stack of tapes. "Jack's the best, and you're too nice to be stuck with that asshole Cal."

Rose smiles, grateful for Fabrizio's support. "The bridge?" she asks, summoning the courage to go find Jack.

"He should be there," Fabrizio nods. On her way out, she catches a smile from Helga, and sees Tommy raise his hand in a friendly wave, and she has the distinct buoying feeling that maybe this group would come to be her real friends.

She finds Jack right where Fabrizio said he would be. He's in the middle of the bridge on a section with a bench for resting joggers. He's standing, one arm resting on the railing, the other hand holding a lit cigarette that he seems to have forgotten about. He's clearly lost in thought, and doesn't notice Rose approach.

"Hello, Jack," she says, feeling nervous— unsure how to start the conversation she wants to have.

Jack turns, startled expression turning to one of wonder as he sees who had greeted him. His puzzlement is fleeting as she speaks again.

"They told me I would find you here. I—I've changed my mind." She doesn't need to clarify what she's changed her mind about. He knows. His eyes seem to be drinking her in, and as she goes to say something else, he shushes her, and holds out his hand. She takes it, and lets him guide her forward, towards the railing.

"What're you—"

"Do you trust me?" He asks, cutting off her question. His eyes are holding hers in an even gaze, reading the truth of her answer.

"I trust you," she says, all hesitance melting away.

"Close your eyes." His voice is in her ear now as he guides her towards the railing, and it causes a shiver to run down her spine.

"Eyes closed, no peeking," he reminds her. He positions her hands on top of the railing so she knows she's secure. "Okay, now step up."

She does, glad this time that she has on the sturdy shoes she usually wears for work and not the slippery stockings she had on the other night. She's fully aware of Jack's close presence behind her— the warmth of him, and the feeling of his rough but gentle hands on top of hers.

She's standing on just the railing now, still holding on for support when she feels Jack step up behind her, his arms going around her waist. "Okay, now let go. Don't worry, I've got you."

She lets her hands go, lifting her arms slightly. With one hand, Jack lifts one of hers so her arm is outstretched like a wing and she mimics the movement with her other arm. He moves his hand back to her waist, leaning forward and speaking softly again. "Alright. Open your eyes.

As she does, she's greeted with a scene of the river from an angle she has never witnessed before. From this high up there are no obstructions of the view, and the wilderness stretching before them, leading to city lights in the far distance is dazzling, especially as the sun is beginning to set, casting an orange and pink glow upon everything. The wind is strong, whipping her hair and clothes about, and she feels as if she's up in the air.

"Jack." She's almost breathless, and feels so very free in this moment. "Jack, I'm flying."

She glances back at him, and sees his fond smile. Both of them steady now, he removes his hands from her waist and finds her fingers again, intertwining the with his. Her thoughts are racing a mile a minute but worries about Cal and her mother and her future are taking up none of them. It's all Jack— Jack, and the possibilities and true happiness he seems to offer, and she knows that this moment is an ultimatum. She has made a choice and she can never go back, but she's sure she'll never want to.

As if reading her thoughts, Jack's attention is directed back to her, and he seems to be reading her again, looking for any sign of hesitance as he closes the distance between them. Rose has never felt this connected to someone through a kiss before. It's like Jack was pouring all of his unsaid emotions into his actions, and she finds her own hand reaching up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him closer. She knows that there will be consequences, and things to figure out, but right now she doesn't care. Right now the only thing she finds she's able to care about is this man in whose arms she feels safer than she has felt in years and years.


	6. Chapter 6

Rose was on cloud nine the whole way home, too elated to worry about anything just yet, but as she pulled into her driveway her stomach sank. Cal's car was sitting there where she ought to be parking her own, which could only mean that he was inside, likely feeding her mother with false stories about the past two days. As much as she wishes she could just drive off again instead of facing either of them, she has nowhere to go. Her mind flashes to Jack— she hadn't even thought to get his phone number. She's not even sure if he would be in the town directory, and she didn't know his guardian's name.

She takes a moment to steady herself and collect her thoughts. It didn't matter what excuses Cal had to give, or what her mother tried to say to guilt her, Rose was finally taking her life into her own hands for the first time since her father died, and to do that she had to stay strong. She thinks back to Jack for a moment and lets the knowledge that he would be there for her buoy her resolve.

"Rose Dewitt-Bukater, where the hell have you been?" Her mother, Ruth, is yelling for her the minute she has shut the front door. She sucks in a deep breath and makes her way towards the "formal" sitting room— a room full of gaudy, expensive furniture that her mom keeps immaculate just to keep up appearances. Her mother is up and pacing with a glass of wine in her hand while Cal, in all his smug glory, sits haphazardly on the victorian sofa leaning on one elbow, very obviously believing that he has once again won out in this situation. Briefly, she ponders just how many glasses her mother had had so far this evening.

Before Rose can get a word in edgewise, her mother is talking again, clearly infuriated. "You had better have a good answer, young lady."

"In town," Rose replies evenly.

"According to Caledon, your boss sent you home hours ago. What could you have possibly been doing all day?"

"I went to see some friends," she explains. It's not fully a lie, either. She had gone to District Records, and she had seen Fabrizio and Helga and Tommy— if however brief. She wasn't sure yet if she could count them as friends, but she could hope. She didn't have to bring Jack up at all.

Her mother gives her an unamused look, and she sees a scowl pass over Cal's face.

"Would these happen to be the same friends you were out drinking with, under age, at a bar last night?" Her mother's accusatory glare is almost frightening.

Rose's eyes dart to Cal. Of course he had told her mother that. She wonders again for a moment just which of his spineless cronies had followed her. She would bet her last dollar that it was Lovejoy.

"I think you owe Cal an apology, Rose." Ruth gives it more like a command than a suggestion. Cal is looking at her expectantly, and her anger rises further.

"I owe him an apology? " She all but shouts. "Why don't you ask him what he was up to last night— why I left his party in the first place? Or do you even care about me at all?" Hot tears are starting to burn behind her eyes, and she hadn't wanted to give Cal the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but she's just so damn frustrated. Her mother always took Cal's side and never bothered to hear both sides of a story. "Go on, Cal, why don't you tell her?"

"Rose," Cal's tone is a warning. And she knows from experience that she shouldn't keep pushing him like this, but in her own anger and desperation in this moment, she doesn't care.

"No, Cal. Tell her. Tell her about the other girl I saw you fucking. Do you even know her name?"

"Language," Ruth gasps, looking appalled at her daughter.

"And what about you with Dawson?" Cal growls, standing suddenly, attempting to drive her fear with his height. "You were all over him in that picture— practically throwing yourself at him. You've been fighting for his attention all week, or did you think I didn't notice?"

"Cal has told me about this Jack kid. He's bad news, Rose. Trash."

Rose rolls her eyes. Of course her mother isn't even going to acknowledge that Cal had cheated on her. Her feelings had never mattered to her mother when the possibility of money was on the line.

"And how would you know anything about him?" Rose demands.

"That boy. He was adopted by that vulgar Mrs. Brown woman. Insufferable. With that kind of authority figure no wonder he has turned out a delinquent."

Rose files this information away, but continues to glare at her mother nonetheless. How could she be so judgmental? Rose knew exactly who Ruth was referring to. She had met Molly Brown a handful of times over the years at charity events her mother would attend— the woman had been warm, and kind to Rose, and unlike Rose's mother, had seemed to be at these events for the right reasons— not to boost her reputation. They had stopped going around the time her father had died, which she guessed is why she had not met Jack any sooner.

"You are not to see that boy again, Rose. I forbid it."

"Oh stop it, mother. You'll give yourself a nosebleed."

She see's something flash behind her mother's eyes, but Ruth steels herself, her mouth drawing into a thin white line before she speaks again.

"You know our situation, Rose. I suggest you think long and hard before you say anything else. Caledon has come here to apologize to you for his behavior, and I expect you to do the same. I'm going to leave you two to talk, but don't think we're done, young lady. There will be consequences for your behavior."

It's all Rose can do not to roll her eyes again at her mother's dramatics. "Of course I know our situation, mother." She responds. "You don't let met think about anything else."

With her mother gone, likely retreating to the kitchen at the back of the house for a refill on her wine, she's alone again with Cal. Barely a moment has passed— no time for her to anticipate it, when she feels the sudden sharp sting and heavy bruising pain of Cal's open fist colliding with her cheek. Her equilibrium thrown off, she struggles to keep her balance, grasping on to the doorway behind her. She had still never made it fully into the room.

"I know you were with him, you little slut."

He's bluffing, and Rose can tell. He has no clue where she has been. She has had enough. Cal has been angry in the past— has yelled, and called her names. He has done his best to make sure that everything that had ever gone wrong had in some way been her fault. He had hurt her seemingly on accident before— carelessly grabbed her too hard, but he had never, until this moment, actually hit her. In a way she feels a sick sense of satisfaction that her actions coupled with his insecurities were enough to make him this upset. She shouldn't rub it in, but she can't help it. It's the only power she has left at this point.

"And so what if I was?" She asks, looking at him defiantly.

"So that's it then?" he asks, looking disgusted. "You're off to be a whore to that crust punk piece of shit? a burnout?"

Hearing him talk about Jack like this angers Rose in an entirely new way. Jack had been nothing but sweet and kind and understanding, and had done absolutely nothing that wasn't completely gentlemanly, unlike Cal, who had spent the better part of the past few years trying to get into Rose's pants.

"I'd rather be his whore than your girlfriend," she replies steadily, and she sees his anger rise again instantly, but she's ready this time, arms flying up to cover her face, and so he grabs hold of her wrists instead, twisting painfully, and she feels something pop sickeningly in the left one but he still isn't letting go despite her protests. Surely her mother hears the yelling, but obviously isn't coming to break up the fight. Unsure of what else to do without hands, she reels back and spits in his face. The action startles Cal enough that he drops her arms, and she's able to kneel down, crouched defensively, holding her now injured wrist.

"Fuck you, you crazy bitch." Cal says, wiping his face on his sleeve and righting his clothing. "You've always been a waste of my fucking time. I hope you enjoy serving coffee for the rest of your life." With that he's storming through the door, and Rose finally lets her tears come unhindered.

She walks quickly through the house, looking for her mother. She isn't really sure why, but in this moment all she wants is comfort or reassurance. She should have known however that this is not something Ruth can offer.

"You're a stupid little fool, Rose," Says Ruth when Rose enters the kitchen. "Don't expect any sympathy from me. You had everything lined up for you— your whole future, and you've thrown it away. And you mark my words, if you see that Dawson boy again, that's the last time you'll be welcome under this roof. You've disobeyed me one too many times, young lady."

Rose feels empty as she backs away from her mother now. How had everything escalated so quickly? The whole world seemed like it had done a complete 180 in the course of the past three days, and all Rose could do was react.

She's shaking her head, in disbelief at the words coming out of her own mouth. She has no plan, but she knows in her gut that she can't sacrifice what has started with Jack. She had already sacrificed her entire childhood and most of her teenage years to appeasing her mother— a woman who would never be satisfied. How could a mother watch her daughter get cheated on and abused and just stand by, practically encouraging it? No. She had to get out.

"Goodbye, then, mother."

"I'm happy for you, mate. Really, I am," explains Tommy in his Irish brogue. "It's just, have you really thought this through? That Cal Hockley was a piece of work even two years ago when I graduated. His father is a real asshole too."

Jack gives an audible huff. "No. I haven't really thought about anything. I never thought for a million years that she'd want a guy like me back. All I know is how she makes me feel."

Jack is back in District Records after having walked Rose to her car near the cafe an hour or two ago. After Rose had come to find him and the kiss they had shared, he couldn't resist stopping in to tell his friends what had just transpired. He knows he's acting like a lovesick fool, but he can't help it. That's what he is right now, completely high on the fact that Rose had chosen him instead. He is fully prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure that she's able to break free, and to do whatever she wants to in life— to make her own decisions. He hadn't yet stopped moving long enough to think about any of the potential consequences for either of them.

"She's going to break up with him?" Fabrizio asks, busy stamping price stickers on a stack of new Nirvana albums for tomorrow's release date. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," says Jack, hopping up to sit on the cash register desk. It's past close, so there are no customers at the moment. "I don't know when, but yeah. From what she's told me its been over for a while. Plus we both saw him with another girl last night at his party."

"Poor Rose," says Helga from where she sits behind the desk, working on homework as she waits for Fabrizio. "I heard that just this morning Cal caused a huge scene in the cafe she works at and that's why she had to leave early. My friend Trudy said he was yelling and that he threw her coffee at her."

Jack frowns. Rose hadn't had any coffee on her clothes when he had seen her so he doesn't know how true the story is, but she had left work early and gone to find him. She never told him the reason— although its true they hadn't done much talking.

"Look, I'm happy for you, mate," says Tommy. "Rose seems like a great girl. All I'm saying is be careful. Cal Hockley isn't someone you want to be on the wrong side of."

The store phone rings, interrupting the conversation. An odd thing, since it barely ever rings, even during business hours.

Helga, sitting at the desk, is the one to pick it up and her eyes dart immediately to Jack, saying "Yeah, he's here," to whoever is on the line, and reaching out to hand him the receiver.

"Hello?" Jack asks into the phone, confused. The coiled cord is stretching over the length of the desk, and he's trying not to knock over the tower of CDs Fabrizio is stickering.

"Jack, oh thank goodness you haven't left yet." He recognizes Molly's voice instantly, and also registers the alarm in it.

"Molly? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sonny, Don't worry about me— it's— your friend is here and she needed some help. Rose Dewitt-Bukater. I'm here with her at Carpathia Medical."

"The hospital?" Jack asks, jumping up, his sudden movement making the cord knock over Fabrizio's record tower. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine, Jack," Molly answers, and she does sound reassuring. "Just get your butt over here."

"On my way!"

Jack slams the phone down, feeling frantic, and realizes his friends are all staring at him waiting for an explanation. They had only heard his side of the phone call.

"Something has happened, and somehow Rose is with Molly at the hospital. I gotta go," he explains, pulling his customary leather jacket back on as he heads for the door. He doesn't wait to hear any of their responses— the only thing on his mind as he speeds towards the city's hospital is Rose— why was she there? How had Molly gotten involved?

He swings wide into the first parking place he can see and hurdles into the hospital upon arriving, heading straight for the front desk.

"I'm here to see Rose Dewitt-Bukater and Molly Brown, please."

"Name?" the bored looking attendant asks.

"Jack Dawson." She checks a list and Jack is about to run out of patience when she tells him "Room 108— that way" and points down the hall.

Jack is running, and he probably looks ridiculous, but he just wants to know what's going on, not letting himself fear the worst. The worry had crossed his mind— after all he had found Rose suicidal just two days ago, but she had seemed so hopeful and sure of herself when they had parted earlier.

He enters the room to find only Molly, and his confusion and fear escalates.

"Molly! Where's Rose?" he asks, looking around as if she would materialize on the small bed.

"Calm down, Jack. They've taken her for an x-ray."

"An x-ray? Molly what's going on?"

His guardian shakes her head looking both amused and exasperated. "Jesus, Jack, I knew you were infatuated with a girl, but you're acting like the sky is falling. I don't know what has gone on the past few days, but you two must be smitten. It seems Rose's ex boyfriend wasn't too happy about being broken up with. The poor girl has a big old bruise on her jaw and her wrist is dislocated and possibly broken. Apparently, she was also given an ultimatum and says she's not allowed to go home. The poor girl is so shaken up." Molly explains.

Immediately, Jack has a thousand more questions, most of which he knows Molly can't answer for him, so he settles for the ones she can.

"How— how did she wind up with you?" He asks, raking a hand through his hair. He had never mentioned Molly to Rose by name. Not that he wouldn't introduce them— it just hadn't come up yet.

"Her mother recognized your name, and knew the connection to me. Rose and her mother used to volunteer at some of the same events I would. Ruth Dewitt-Bukater is a nasty woman, but Rose has always been lovely. The way she told it, after she got kicked out she looked up my name in a payphone directory trying to reach you, and got me instead. And I'm glad she did. That girl needs a mother figure right now."

Jack nods, everything piecing together in his mind. With Molly's status he shouldn't be surprised that she had rubbed elbows with the Dewitt-Bukaters, and probably the Hockleys. Molly Brown was worth just as much, if not more, than Nathan Hockley.

Jack has taken to pacing by the time Rose is escorted back into the room by a doctor—something that he knows drives Molly crazy, but she hasn't said anything yet. He knows that his guardian has plenty of questions for him as well, but in her wisdom she knows that this isn't the time or place for it.

"Rose!" He's at her side in an instant and she's wrapping her good arm around him just as immediately. Pulling back slightly he studies her, his hand coming up to her cheek, careful not to touch the forming bruise he sees there. She looks exhausted, and guessing at the faraway look in her eyes she's on some pretty heavy pain medication as well.

"So?" he hears Molly direct towards the doctor expectantly.

"It's a small fracture," the doctor, a stern looking woman in her late 30's responds. "Nothing too serious, but it will need a cast for a couple of weeks."

Jack's blood is boiling at the information, and he looks down towards Rose's arm. There is indeed a pale purple cast on her wrist, and he can tell her hand is pretty swollen underneath. He doesn't yet know the details, but he knows enough to piece together the story. He has never been a hateful person, but the rage he feels towards Cal right now is nearly blinding, and he tries not to let Rose see it. She had dealt with enough today as it is.

'Rose," the doctor turns toward her now, looking serious. "Think about what we discussed, and we'll see you in again soon to check on everything."

Rose nods, giving her thanks to the doctor before they're left alone again in the room. She's cleared to leave, and Jack can feel the awkwardness hanging in the air.

"Thank you for everything, Molly. Truly." Rose says, giving Jack's adoptive parent a meek smile.

The middle-aged woman smiles. "Not a problem, darling." She grabs her purse and coat and heads for the door. "I'll leave you two alone to talk and I'll see you at home," she says making to leave. Jack is just about to wave Molly off, when Rose speaks up again.

"At home?" she asks, timidly.

Molly raises and eyebrow, giving her a look of "Are you serious?"

"You didn't think I was letting you go back to your house tonight, did you?" she shakes her head. "You're staying with us and I won't hear another word about it. You best believe I'll be calling your mother first thing in the morning and giving her a piece of my mind," says Molly, and Rose looks down, frowning. Ruth Dewitt-Bukater is bound to be beyond furious, both at her daughter's behavior, and at being called and berated by a woman that she found vulgar and insufferable. Rose knows though that after everything, she can't go home, and she has nowhere else to go.

"You won't hear me complaining," says Jack, trying to make a joke and lighten the mood, but it flops, and Molly just shakes her head. "We'll be talking at home, too, Jack," Molly warns, a bit of a smirk gracing her lips, and Jack just shrugs giving her a winning grin.

As Molly leaves, Jack's expression regains its seriousness.

"How does it feel?" he asks, gesturing to her wrist.

"Not fantastic," she replies, her tone somewhat harsh, and he winces, nodding.

"Right. Yeah, stupid question. Sorry."

Rose closes her eye and heaves and audible sigh, before looking back up at Jack, her expression softer now. "No, I'm sorry," she says. "I'm being a bitch. I'm just tired."

They make their way out of the hospital to Jack's car, and they're inside pulling onto the main road before Jack attempts to broach the subject.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jack asks. He glances at her in the passenger seat. She's out of it from the medication the doctor had given her, he can tell, and she's quiet and withdrawn, just as she had been when he had driven her home the night before. He knows that there is a lot going on in her mind, and he doesn't want to pry where he's not welcome. He had known this girl for less than a week, and it was scaring him just how much he cared for her wellbeing.

"It's over," she says, matter-of-factly. "And he got angry."

Jack tries to hide the anger growing within him, imagining the scene.

"I went home and he was already there, talking to my mother. He had told her about me leaving his party, and how I had gone with you to that bar last night. He accused me of cheating, and I pointed out how ridiculous that was considering he slept with another girl just yesterday. Mother of course was taking Cal's word for everything and didn't care how I felt— to her my relationship with Cal has always been more important than anything else to do with me, all because she saw it as a way to keep her status and maybe get some money again. If I followed her plan and went to college with Cal, I would get a job in his father's company, and marry him, and she would be set for life."

"And you would be miserable." Jack intones. He has heard all of this already, but he still can't even fathom a parent putting their child's happiness and future behind their own, just for money and reputation. Even when his parents had been alive, they had been supportive of everything Jack did and had loved him beyond measure. Rose was the most special person he had ever met, and he absolutely could not see how her mother could apparently just abandon her without a care.

"He hit me," Rose says quietly. "He hit me and I got scared, but I also got mad. She raises her casted wrist. "This is my fault. I provoked him when I knew full well what I was doing. He had never hit me before, but I don't think I've ever seen him that mad, either."

Jack is shaking his head again, not even trying to mask his emotions anymore. Rose could know full well what he thought of Cal Hockley. Keeping an eye on the cars around him, he pulls over to the side of the road, putting his car in park before turning to Rose, and reaching to take her good hand in both of his. "Rose, listen to me," he says, eyes locked on the blue-green of hers. "This was not your fault. None of it. Cal is an idiot for not being able to see your value and everything that was right in front of him. Nothing that asshole has ever done has been your fault, I can guarantee that. And I want you to know right now that I will never hurt you. I will never lay a finger on you or on any other girl, and I'm so sorry for everything you've had to deal with."

"Thank you, Jack," she says, squeezing his hand back. "I know you won't. I trust you." Leaning across the console, she kisses him once, softly, and he can't help but smile. They hadn't talked about anything important earlier— hadn't defined anything— but he feels a sense of reassurance wash over him at her action. She's here, and she's okay, and she still wants to kiss him, so there is that.

He pulls the car out of park and back out onto the road continuing the short drive home. She's very drowsy at this point, and so they don't talk any more. Pulling his car into Molly's long driveway, he hops out of his side, and comes around, opening Rose's door for her. Molly is home already and lights are on inside. Molly, upon their entrance into the house, ushers Rose upstairs towards a guest room to sleep for the night, and Jack knows better than to protest. She's asleep on her feet anyway at this point and needed to lay down and rest her arm.

Jack waits for Molly in the kitchen, poking through the fridge and settling on frozen chicken tenders for a very late dinner. He has just finished popping them in the oven when Molly wanders in.

"You know, you ought to try eating a vegetable one of these days. It might do you some good."

Jack shrugs, his grin returning at Molly's dry humor. After three years he still loved living here, and counts Molly as his family. He takes a seat across from her now at the breakfast bar.

"So," He asks, "What do you want to know?" They may as well get to the point.

"Jack, you've been at that school for a week. How could you have already drummed up this much trouble?" She asks, incredulous. She truly does just want to understand the whole situation.

"I haven't done anything, Molly!" He's defensive. "Not really, anyway."

She raises a signature eyebrow at him, and the only choice he has is to open up.

"She's in a few of my classes and we got talking," he explains. "She hasn't seemed happy at all, and it made me curious. Then the other night, when I came home late, its because I ran into her on my way home… on the bridge."

The weight of his words helps molly to understand his meaning. "Dear god, Jack, you didn't think it might be important to mention to me then?" She's angry now.

Jack frowns. "It seemed like she would be okay, and I promised her I wouldn't say anything. I wanted to keep my word. Anyway, we talked more the next day and I learned more about her. She's been miserable, Molly. They've had her completely trapped. That asshole boyfriend and her mom and his whole family were basically controlling her whole life. Because of them she missed a dance audition that could have launched her career, and they've been holding the possibility of college over her head because of money. It's so stupid."

"What did you say this boyfriend's name was?" Molly asks.

"Cal." Says Jack, angry at the thought of him. "Caledon Hockley."

"Mm-hmm," says Molly. "I see. And I'm guessing a few things have happened between school on Friday and me answering the phone this evening?"She's exacting in her questions.

"She invited me to Cal's party yesterday, to say thank you for helping her on the bridge. I got there right as she found Cal sleeping with another girl. I thought it was stupid for her to stay and put up with his behavior, so we went into town to go to Tommy's show at Below Decks, and we had a really great time." He smiles slightly thinking of the previous night with Rose— how she had come alive with the music. "Anyway, I told her what I thought— that she should dump Cal because she has obviously been unhappy— that I like her and I'd be here for her, but it was her decision. With the way we left things last night I didn't think she would."

"And today?" Asks Molly.

"I guess she and Cal had some sort of fight at the cafe where she works, and afterwards she came and found me to tell me she changed her mind. I don't know any of the details after she went home— just that Cal hit her and twisted her wrist and her mom kicked her out. Why all the questions, Molly?" His guardian didn't usually ask to know details about what he had been up to.

Molly sighs. "The hospital staff are pushing Rose to do a report on Cal. I just wanted to make sure you weren't involved any further than being supportive of her, not that I thought you were," explains Molly.

Jack nods. That made sense. "So Cal is actually going to get in trouble for this?" He asks hopefully.

"That depends," she explains. "They might not be able to do anything but a slap on the wrist— no one was in that house aside from Rose, Cal, and Ruth, and our testimony would mostly be hearsay."

"That's bullshit!" Says Jack, angry again that Cal would probably be getting no consequences.

"That's bureaucracy," says Molly, sadly. "You've done the right thing, Jack, supporting her," she says. "Although I wish you had come to me after what happened on that bridge."

"I know," says Jack. "I should have."

Molly tilts her head to the side, studying him. "You really like her, don't you?" She asks. Jack had flirted with girls before while living with Molly, but had never been serious about anyone.

"I do," he says earnestly.

Molly nods and stands back up, ready to turn in for the night. "Eat up and get some rest," she says. "We'll figure everything out tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

It's not even light out yet when Rose wakes up, disoriented. The pain in her wrist, which had been dulled by medication when she went to sleep is now irritating enough to wake her, and she feels unsettled being in an unfamiliar house. She rolls over and looks at the alarm clock glowing across the room. It's nearing 6am. Jack and Molly are both undoubtedly asleep, and she realizes that she's not even sure if Molly has a husband, or any other children. Reluctant to disturb anyone, but needing something for the pain, she tiptoes out of the guest room and down the hall towards the door that Molly had pointed out as Jack's. She feels self-conscious— utterly aware of how weird this entire situation is. She's wearing the sweater she had worn the day before because she hadn't wanted to jostle her arm more than necessary, and a pair of lounge pants that Molly had said were Jack's, apologizing that she didn't have anything more suitable, and even with the drawstring pulled tight Rose was swimming in them and feeling like a child as she walk down the hallway.

As she approaches she can hear light snoring, which amuses her a bit— the fact that Jack snores. She knocks lightly on the door, not wanting to wake anyone else but hoping its loud enough for him to hear.

"Jack." She whispers loudly, knocking lightly again.

"Hmm?" She can hear a sleep-addled mumble. "It's open," he says groggily, and she opens the door a crack, peering in. She's not sure he's actually awake. He looks like he hasn't moved and his eyes are still closed.

"Jack?"

He cracks an eye open and then realizes that its her, and sits up to see her better.

"Rose?" His voice cracks with sleep. "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head. "My arm really hurts. Do you know where Molly put my pain medication?" She asks, and he shakes his head, standing from the bed and picking up a shirt from the floor as he does. "No, but stay here and I'll go see if I can find it, he tells her. As he passes she tries to ignore the fact that he had been shirtless when he stood up. She feels silly for even caring.

He returns quickly carrying a pill bottle with her name on it, and a glass of water, handing her the drink as he opens the pill bottle and tips one out, realizing that she wouldn't be able to get into it one-handed.

"Thank you," she says, genuinely appreciative. Since she has met Jack he has been nothing but thoughtful— opening doors for her, watching her back in the crowds at the bar, and noticing small things like how she wouldn't have been able to open the bottle on her own. She thinks that maybe he has shown her more kindness in three days than Cal did over three years.

"No problem," he responds with a yawn.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she says, turning to leave.

"That's okay," he says, a teasing smile appearing on his face, "although for a second there I thought I was dreaming."

"Well, if the pain in my arm is anything to go by then I think this is real life," she says sardonically, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of him dreaming about her, regardless.

"I'm sorry." He's frowning as he sets the pill bottle aside on dresser by the doorway. "Is there anything I can do? Anything else I can get you?" He asks, just wanting to help.

Rose shakes her head, and sets the water down as well, stepping up to Jack and just leaning her forehead against his chest, wanting to feel closer to him. Now that she's up, she doesn't want to leave and go back to bed. She doesn't want to be alone. She is unsure how to open up conversation between them though. Everything feels so new, awkward, and uncomfortable.

Jack's arms wrap around her almost automatically, one hand settling on her back, and a the other up to her head, combing through her long curly hair which is messy from sleep. Rose pulls back from the hug after a few moments, and looks around the room, illuminated by pre-dawn light from the windows. It's pretty spacious, and exudes Jack from every corner. The furniture is simple wood and pretty mismatched but still somehow cohesive. All of his decor has a somewhat rustic feel and is very calming and homey. He seems to keep his space pretty neat, for a teenage boy. There are a few glasses and odds and ends lying about, but no clothing strewn on the floor or visible trash as she had often found in Cal's room. He also seemed to care a great deal about what went on the walls— his posters and artwork were all framed and hung tastefully and there's a very eclectic mix. There are a few photographs—cityscapes and portraits of his friends that she is sure he did himself. There are also a few album covers and some prints of classical artwork, the biggest being a poster of Monet's Waterlilies. Off to one wall, lining several shelves is a collection of vinyl albums, cds, and casettes with a rather large sound system, and nearby is a large drafting table that looks to be littered with art supplies and papers. Rose decides that she likes this space— likes that she can look around and tell that Jack is passionate about what he devotes his time to; art and music, and that he respects his own surroundings. The space is warm and inviting whereas Cal's room had been stark and off-putting. Her ex boyfriend had had no artwork on the walls aside from posters of swimwear models and sports figures, and the surfaces of his furniture had always been piled with electronics and trash he had been too lazy to take care of and Rose had always kind of figured that maybe that is what every teenage boy's bedroom looked like. Once again, Jack is surprising her.

Stepping out of his embrace she approaches the pictures on the walls to look closer, again amazed by Jack's artwork. He has a distinctive style that tells a story and conveys emotion. A few of his drawings are hanging up as well— there's one of his friends inside of the record store, all of them laughing at something. There's one of two people who bear a resemblance to Jack, in a loving embrace, and she assumes this must be of his parents. The drawing evokes a wistfulness and a yearning and she can tell looking at it how much he must miss them.

"You really do have talent, Jack. Your work is amazing." She glances at him, and he thanks her, genuinely, not brushing off the compliment or putting himself down, and she finds the self-assurance refreshing. Wandering along the wall she comes to the drafting table, and glancing down, a drawing on top of the pile catches her eye. It's of her, at the bar the other night, and she is stunned to see just how carefree and happy she looks in the image he had rendered, and just how beautiful— much prettier than she ever pictured herself in her mind."

She can feel Jack watching her, waiting for a reaction. "You drew this from memory?" She asks, somewhat stunned. She doesn't think anyone has ever drawn her before.

"I— yeah," he answers walking closer to look at the picture as well. "I'm sorry if that's weird, or creepy, I just— I couldn't get you off of my mind yesterday morning, and I always draw when I'm thinking too much."

Rose shakes her head. "It's fine, Jack. It's beautiful work, really. I'm flattered. You made me look way prettier than I actually am, though," she points out, and he's shaking his head again.

"I didn't," He says sincerely. "If anything I couldn't capture you properly. Not from memory. You're gorgeous, Rose."

She would have argued more if he hadn't sounded so earnest. She lets out a sigh, walking closer to him again. Her mind is running wild with everything that has happened the past few days. So much has changed in such a short span of time and she's not sure how not to be stressed about it all right now. So much is just up in the air.

"What am I going to do?" she asks, hoping for any kind of idea. "If I want to continue seeing you at all, I can't go home. And if I do, I doubt I'll be allowed to do anything except for school and cheer practice, and my mother will likely find a way to try and get Cal and I back together— or rather, force me to see him so she can keep up appearances. I can't do that, Jack. I won't." She's starting to get genuinely upset. "We've only just met. I don't want to lose you."

"No," says Jack, and he puts an arm around her again, moving them so they can sit down to talk, scooting so they're sitting sideways on his bed with their backs against the wall. "You won't have to. I'll make sure of it," He says, reassuringly. "You never have to give that asshole the time of day again." With one arm still around her waist, he holds out his other hand, taking her casted one gingerly, aware that it's still hurting quite a bit. Comforted by his gentleness, she leans her head to rest against his shoulder.

"How can you be so sure?" She asks. "I still have nowhere to go, and knowing my mother, no more car, and no possessions that I haven't purchased on my own. My 18th birthday is just a few weeks away, and she'll be in her full right to stop supporting me. Maybe Cal is right, and I really will wind up selling coffee for the rest of my life."

"That's not gonna happen, Rose. You're smart, and ambitious, and talented, and you're full of light when you allow yourself to open up to the world, and you are going to do amazing things. I'm sure of it. And you're always welcome to stay here. Molly won't mind one bit. We'll talk to her about it in the morning."

"Jack, it is morning," she reminds him, despite stifling a yawn

He shrugs. "You know what I meant."

Rose gets quiet again, trying to find the words she needs. "Jack, this time last week, I didn't even know you existed, and I felt so trapped in my life. Now, so much has changed. Without you, I don't think I would have ever had the courage to face Cal and my mother. I just— thank you."

"Don't thank me, Rose. Everything you've done, you've done on your own."

"You're so selfless, Jack. I like that about you."

"I'm not, really," He says. "I just don't like seeing people get hurt."

"You're a good person." She's getting drowsy again, the pain medicine finally beginning to take effect. Before she knows it she's falling asleep on Jack's shoulder, his arm still loosely around her.

Jack had stayed, just holding Rose while she slept, until he had heard Molly starting her day. Rose, half asleep, lays down fully as Jack moves to stand up, and he tucks his duvet around her, hoping she can get some more rest, and makes his way down to the kitchen.

His guardian had always been an early riser, with this Sunday being no different, but Jack usually sleeps in on the weekends, and so she's surprised to see him. He makes a beeline for the coffee pot, hoping it will make him more alert, and he savors the first sip.

"You're up early," she points out, settling at the breakfast nook.

"Rose needed something for her arm, and then we've been up talking. She just fell back to sleep," he explains.

"That poor girl," says Molly. "I'm going to be giving her mother a piece of my mind."

Jack nods, although with what he has learned of Rose's mother he's not sure what good it would do.

"I don't think she's ever been allowed to make a decision on her own before, Molly. She's terrified of having to go back home and be forced into the same routines, but she doesn't have anywhere else to go. She turns eighteen in just a few weeks, and she's sure her mom will use that as an excuse to kick her out fully."

"And you want to know if she can stay here?" Molly guesses. "Jack, you don't even have to ask. When am I going to get it drilled into your stubborn head that this is your home? You're welcome to have guests whenever and for however long you like. The more people filling up this big empty house the better."

Jack smiles then, reaching across the counter to squeeze the older woman's hand. "Thank you, Molly. I promise I'll get used to it someday."

"You're as good as a son to me, Jack. You know that." He does. Molly was amicably separated from her husband, J.J., and her two children were now grown with kids of their own. Molly had told Jack before that having him in the house was a joy, and kept her from getting too lonely— not that she was ever bored. Her philanthrope work and feminist causes kept her plenty busy.

She looks at him a little more sternly now. "Just because she can stay here doesn't mean there won't be rules," says Molly. Jack nods, willing to agree to any conditions if it meant Rose wouldn't have to worry. "I know you're both nearly adults, but you are still in high school. I expect you both to keep your grades up and focus on your studies— no letting distraction get in the way."

"Of course," says Jack. "She's top of the class, so I don't think that will be a problem. If anything, I might start doing better," he jokes. He's not a bad student by any means, but it had never been overly important to him to get perfect grades. He got a healthy mix of A's and B's, aside from math, which usually slid in at a passing C. He would be going to college for art, so he didn't think it mattered much as long as he learned the basics. His portfolio was what really mattered.

"You're both to let me know if you're ever going to be out later than 10pm on a weekday, or midnight on a weekend, and where you'll be. I know telling you not to drink is no use at your age, but for the love of god, Jack, if you're going to drink, don't get behind the wheel."

"Got it," says Jack.

Molly's expression has a bit of a smirk as she raises her next point. "Until she's over eighteen as well, I expect you to keep bedroom doors open when you're alone together. I can't stop either of you from doing anything, but please for the love of all that's holy, be careful, and use protection."

Jack can feel his face heating up, and he knows his ears are likely turning red as he tries to play it cool in response. "Got it," he squeaks out again. He had certainly thought about being with Rose in that way fleetingly, but hadn't spent too much time dwelling. Until yesterday being with her had seemed completely unattainable, and while they were heading in the direction of being together, they hadn't declared anything yet. Too much had been going on, and he thought that they probably needed a little more time. Now though, he realizes that Molly has some fair points— the most beautiful girl Jack had ever laid eyes on, who happened to like him back, would be living under the same roof, and sleeping every night just down the hallway; in fact, she was tucked up in his bed right this very moment.

It's nearing eleven when Rose wakes again, and wanders down the stairs, finding Jack and Molly still talking in the kitchen, and she's greeted by warm smiles from both. Jack stands as she comes into the room, almost as if drawn to her like a magnet. She greets them both with a good morning.

Jack pulls a seat out for her at the breakfast bar across from Molly, conscious of her hand. "How's your arm feeling now?" He asks, and she shrugs.

"Better than it was earlier. Thank you."

"You a coffee drinker, Rose?" Asks Molly. "The pot's fresh."

"Definitely," she responds, coffee sounding absolutely perfect right now, and Jack pours her a cup before settling back in his seat next to her.

"Well, Rose, I've spoken to your mother," says Molly, and Rose frowns, looking up at the woman across from her.

"I'm sorry to tell you that she didn't have much nice to say. She seemed remorseful about how injured you are, but wasn't very reasonable."

Rose frowns, surprised at just how saddened she feels by her mother's attitude. "I didn't expect her to be," she admits. "She hasn't been very reasonable about anything since my dad died."

Jack reaches over, placing his hand gently over her own in comfort.

"You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need," Molly tells her. "The rest of the school year, or after. Our door is open."

"Thank you," Rose says. "I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am. I feel like I'm coming in and disrupting everything."

"Not at all," Molly tells her. "No girl should ever have to go through what you've been dealing with, so if I can help, of course I'm going to. In this household, the more, the merrier. Jack's friends practically live here anyway."

"That's true," says Jack. "Fabri, Tommy, and Helga are here all the time. Sometimes they come in unannounced."

This makes Rose feel better. The last thing she wants is to impose upon their hospitality. Especially for as long as a whole school year, but if they both insisted it was okay, she would just have to believe them.

"I am really dreading this," says Rose. Jack knows exactly what she means. They're sitting in his car in the senior parking lot, staring at the building that Rose knows she'll have to face going into, but she can't even pretend to guess how this day would go.

She's dressed in the jeans she had been wearing the other night, freshly washed, and a t-shirt and flannel borrowed from Jack, who is sitting in the driver's seat.

"I am too, if I'm honest," he says. "You'll be okay, though," he assures her. "I'll be there."

She had taken the nurse's advice and reported Cal the day before, filing an incident report with the county police, and she knows that they had gone to his house to speak with him. She's not sure how he's going to react the next time she sees him, but she knows that its not going to be good, and she and Jack both have class with Cal first thing this morning.

"I guess its now or never," she says, climbing out of the car on her own, and Jack follows, catching up to her as she walks towards the building with determination. They get a few curious glances as they enter the building together, and there are some whispers. She wonders if Cal had already started the rumor mill, or if its just the fact that she has shown up looking completely different from her norm, with a cast on her arm.

Trudy is near her locker, seemingly waiting for her.

"Rose!" She runs up when she sees her approaching. "Are you okay?" She asks, concerned. "What happened after the cafe? What happened to your arm?"

Rose hugs her friend. "It's a long story," she says, and she can see Trudy eyeing Jack, who's standing a few feet back now, and she introduces them.

"Trudy, this is Jack. Jack— Trudy. She's my oldest friend."

Jack offers the girl a warm smile and a hand shake. "Nice to meet you," he says, genuinely, and the brown haired girl returns the sentiment, giving Rose a curious look.

"You're okay, though?" Asks Trudy again.

Rose nods. "I will be," she says. "Jack has been helping me a lot. I finally broke up with Cal on Saturday and we got into a fight." She raises her casted arm, wiggling her fingers.

"He did that?" Trudy asks, her shock apparent.

Rose nods. "Have you seen him?" she asks, glancing around the halls.

"Not yet," says Trudy. I guess we will in class though.

After Rose retrieves her books, they all walk to history together. Jack's hand is on her back again, protectively, as if to shield her, and Rose wonders if that's not as much for his own comfort as it is hers. Even after the short period of time she had known Jack, she had learned quickly just how much he dislikes confrontation. He has a true pacifist nature, and she can tell that the possibility of a fight makes him just as anxious as it does her.

They don't have to wait long for confrontation to come, however. Cal is already in the classroom in his seat when they enter, and Rose can feel herself tense up the moment she sees him. She knows that he must have been waiting, as he is generally never early to anything.

"Well, don't you two look cozy," he says, his eyes flitting from Rose to Jack and the hand he still has on her back.

"Shut up, Cal," she says, surprised at how strong her own voice sounds compared to how she feels.

"What did you do to your face?" he asks, ignoring her, his tone borders on gloating. The welt on her cheek was still pretty swollen, and the bruise had started to darken over the past day. She didn't have any makeup at Jack's to cover it and so she knows she looks a mess.

"You know full well what happened," She responds. "I heard you got a little visit yesterday."

"No one can prove I did anything," he responds. Just as Rose had assumed, he is facing no real consequences for his actions. "You are clumsy, Rose. For all anyone knows you could have fallen."

She's surprised he's talking about this so openly. Anyone in the class who's listening in— and she's sure that's most of the class, could pick right up on what he's inferring, and she really is astounded that he's so self assured that he's not even afraid to elude to the fact that he had abused her.

"You're a piece of shit, Hockley," Jack says, stepping up between them, angrier than she has seen Jack ever get. She's about to say something and pull him back when Mr. Andrews enters, telling everyone to take their seats. Trudy, thankfully, is one step ahead of Jack and Rose, and takes Rose's usual seat so she won't have to sit in front of Cal, and Rose gives her friend a smile of thanks.

Cal spends most of the class whispering to his idiot friends, and Rose finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the industrial revolution as she can hear her and Jack's names periodically, and she can feel others glancing their way as well. The period is almost up, and she's mentally preparing herself for another scene when someone knocks on the door and hands Mr. Andrews a note.

The kind teacher looks up at the class, his eyes finding Cal over his spectacles. "Mr. Hockley, you're wanted in the office."

She can feel Cal's glare as he packs up his stuff and exits the classroom, and can't help but to be relieved once he's gone, and she glances at Jack, catching his eye. He seems relieved as well.

"I can't believe the nerve of that guy!" Jack exclaims. They're at lunch in the courtyard with Fabrizio and Trudy. "He has no shame. It's like he doesn't even care if people know what he did. He seems proud of it. It's sick!"

"I can believe it," says Rose. She takes a bite of her sandwich, a bitter expression on her face. "He thinks he's invincible. He always has. In his mind, his money makes him untouchable. Sometimes I wonder if that's not true. He has gotten away with every bad thing he's done his entire life."

Their conversation is interrupted by the subject of it barreling towards them, his face red, fury apparent. "You fucking bitch!" He's yelling, his focus trained on Rose. "This is all your fault. This entire fucking thing. If you hadn't been so goddamn stubborn— "

She stands up from her spot on the brick terrace. Jack moves almost comically fast to put his body between hers and Cal, and Fabrizio jumps up as well looking wary.

"What are you talking about now, Cal?" She asks, tired of his theatrics.

"Because of that fucking report you gave to the police, I'm off the team for the rest of the season," he answers, fuming.

Jack gives a laugh, and she glances up at him, somewhat amused herself, and surprised that he's actually having to deal with some kind of consequence.

"You think this is funny, Dawson?" Cal asks, coming almost nose for nose with Jack. With the two of them in close proximity, Rose isn't sure what would happen if they came to blows. Cal definitely had the advantage of build but Jack had height on his side, and Rose cold guess that he's probably rather scrappy and can stand his own. He had after all spent years within the state system and had survived as a teenage runaway.

"No," responds Jack. "Actually, I think its pretty sad. You've cheated on your girlfriend, beaten her up— broken a bone even, not to mention limited any source of joy and freedom she's had her entire high school career and you apparently feel no remorse for that, and yet you're upset about goddamn football." Jack has a pitying expression on his face, and Rose can tell that his words really do seem to be getting under Cal's skin. "I mean, I knew your priorities and morals were warped from the get-go, but I guess its true what they say about kids like you— you truly are peaking in high school. If you're so afraid of being off the team you must know already that the rest of your life is bound to be miserable."

She can see in Cal's eyes that Jack has touched a nerve, and she's genuinely surprised when he takes a step away from him rather than lashing out. Perhaps he realizes that starting a physical fight on school grounds with her accusations circulating would only make him look more guilty. "This isn't over," says Cal. He meets Rose's eye again before turning back to Jack. "I always win, Dawson. One way or another. Know that."

"What a creep," Jack says once Cal is far enough away. He turns around, facing Rose, his hand coming to rest on her arm, rubbing it lightly. "You okay?" He asks. The concern in his eyes makes her stomach swoop.

"I'm fine, Jack. Cal's attitude is nothing I'm not used to."


End file.
